A Dean Good Sandwich
by Mystic25
Summary: Weechester. When your 6 year old brother is sick, you'll pretty much say anything.


"A Dean Good Sandwich"

Mystic25

SUMMARY: Weechester. When your 6 year old brother is sick, you'll pretty much say anything.

Rating: T, for some tiny bits of language.

A/N: Just had to write this; that's all I can say.

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"_Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."_

-Brillat-Savarin

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><p><strong>1989.<strong>

"C'mon Sammy," Dean rubs his brother's back, the way his dad had done whenever Sam was sick. The way he can foggily remember his mom doing when he was. "It'll be okay buddy."

Sam didn't look passified at this. He was too busy looking at the toilet, hurling things into it from his mouth.

Dean's first reaction to was a cross between "eww gross!" and "hey, it looks like you made stew!" But, Sammy might make The Eyes, at such remarks. So he tried to appear older than his ten year old self, and just kept rubbing Sam's little back through the red Spider Man tshirt – it even had a fake breast plate in the front like real Spiderman armor. On sale at K Mart for 5 buck.

But right now, it smelled like barf, and Sammy – well Sammy was crying about it cause he was 6.

"My shirt!" Sam gets out in between rounds of barf; on his knees on cold bathroom tile, in a totally white bathroom with one white scratchy towel on the towel rack. "Dean my shirt, it's so dirty!" His voice is quavering, so close to tears, his bottom lip is quivering.

"We'll wash it Sam, stop crying about it," Dean throws back.

Sammy had food poisoning from bad Oscar Meyer bologna, and he was puking up all his body parts, and was crying over his stupid shirt…

"_De-"_

Okay, that was Sammy's "pathetic, help me voice" and Dean finally saw tears falling down along with all his snot apparently. He looked so little curled up and crying, brown hair all bed head and flat.

"If it hurts Sammy don't talk, " It's all Dean can say as he rubs Sam's back, feeling like the worse jerk ever because he had made his brother the sandwich. And he had to admit, that the bologna did smell faintly like gym socks when he took it out.

But, it was either that or just Wonderbread. Dad would still be out for hours, and Dean had no money, and what was he supposed to do? They had no food, but they still had to eat. And, was older, no way was he letting them starve. So he found the lunch meat way in the back of the mini fridge and made them dinner. Sam really loved that sandwich too. Dean had eaten two pieces of plain bread next to his brother on their motel bed. He'd given Sam all the Bologna, but Sam refused to eat alone. He was into 'sharing' from his kindergarten teacher.

And, damnit, if Sam didn't look _proud_ to be eating that sandwich, just like his big brother. He even ate the crusts.

So to be fair, Dean should be proudly puking right next to him.

But, the only bologna left was in the toilet, and Dean was 10, he wasn't stupid.

"Dean," Sam whimpers and it sounds like a puppy dog being crushed by a car. "Dean, my tummy hurts _so_ bad!"

And Sam's still a little guy; all he can do is rain more snot all over his face.

"Ah Sammy, it'll be okay," Dean keeps rubbing. He doesn't know what the big deal about doing this is anyway. It wasn't making Sam feel any better. And he was just a kid, and Dean was a kid too.

And he felt like a dumb ass kid for getting his brother sick. Dad was going to tan his hide.

"I liked your sandwich Dean," Sam says with those dumb cow eyes, and it made Dean's heart do some weird beats in his chest.

Sam was puking after eating gym sock bologna and he was acting like it was the best damn thing he'd ever tasted.

"Thanks," Dean says with a pathetic sounding voice. Like Timmy Jamison right after that 7th grader decided to string him up by his underwear on the Jungle Gym. He cleared his throat, because it was an adult thing, _not_ because he was becoming a girl.

"It was!" Sam says as passionately as a 6-year-old can when hunkered over a toilet puking his guts out. "A damn good sandwich!"

"Sammy, don't swear!" Dean says almost instantly. Sam was too little to make that curse sound tough, rather it just sounded like he was trying to get attention.

"Sorry," Sam said guilty, and damnit those eyes were back. Which cow did he steal them from?

"S'okay," Dean reassures, still rubbing Sam's sweaty back. "Just, don't say damn, that's a 'Dean word"

Sam shot him, an too-old-for-his age look. "You ain't suppose to say it either Dean!"

Dean just returns such a remark with a look of his own. "Your tummy any better?"

"No," Sam says, voice quivering, his arm curled around his middle. He's actually _looking_ into the toilet at all the mess swirled around there like soup.

Freak.

"Dean good sandwich."

Dean's eyebrows knit down. "What?"

"Was a _Dean_ good sandwich," Sam says proudly, finally giving up clinging to the toilet and crumples back, knowing that Dean may thing he's too big of a boy for this, but he'll catch him just the same.

Dean rolls his eyes at Sam thinking he'll just let him do this. But, he still wraps both arms across Sam's shoulders and lets the 6 year old curl himself into his lap. Sammy needed a shower, and to brush his teeth cause his breath stinks. But Dean still crossed his legs and just let his little brother stay there.

"Yeah Sammy, it was a Dean good sandwich."

"Can you make it again?" Sam asks, setting on Dean like he's a bed.

Dean shoots a Big Brother Look down at Sam. "After you barfed all over after eating it? No way!"

"Please?" Sam says, cow eyed look bouncing off the wall where he was looking, and up to Dean. "You could get better stuff? I promise I won't get sick-"

Dean can't see Sam's pleading look, but he sure can feel it. He huffs a sigh, and rolls his eyes. Little Brothers. "You gotta swear."

"You gotta not feed me bad stuff." Sam retaliates. He was only 6, but he learned his wit from the heels of a master like Dean.

The little brat- Dean's eye roll is a lot harder, but he crosses his heart for the benefit of Sam, who is watching him now. "I promise, next time, good bologna."

Sam is content with that, snuggling more into Dean. "Don't you feel better now?" He said the words _exactly _ like Dean had heard Sam's Kindergarten teacher Ms. Mumford say. She was a scary looking witch too. Dean was talking she _looked_ like a _real_ scary looking witch. He always wanted to give her a broom after school and watch her fly home.

Dean shrugs a dry laugh. Sam was a dorky idiot of a brother, but he was also a trip. "Way better."

They there all night, waiting up for their father, who doesn't return until morning. Sam falling asleep curled up on him on the bathroom floor, even though it makes his butt fall asleep.

Because Dean good sandwiches only come from _Dean_ Good Deans.

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><p><strong>2012<strong>

"Hey," Dean holds something out on a paper plate.

Sam's eyes open, they are gritty and bleary, and goddamn his head hurts. "What is that?" He's eyeing the paper plate. "Dean, I thought you were getting food-"

"What do you think this is?" Dean rattles around the sandwich on the paper plate.

"Processed Salmonella," Sam finishes for him flippantly.

"I cut it into wedges," Dean announces, with his Big Annoying Older Brother Smile.

Sam gives an eye roll that's painful, making Dean eye him critically.

"How you doing?" Dean asks.

This house is disgusting, and the beds probably have parasites that go back 10 generations. But, Sam didn't want to go to practical place – like you know a frigging – _hospital_, when Dean found his him seizing at 3 am when he went to follow the roaches to the bathroom, and hadn't gotten him to stop for 15 minutes. Sam was weak and shaky, but apparently, his stubbornness hadn't been affected.

"I'll live," Sam sits up on the bed, and every muscle screams at him that he's an idiot for doing stupid things like moving. He eyes the paper plate like it will bite him. He is such a salad junkie that the sight of the Wonder Bread is making him nauseous. "Seriously man, I can't eat that."

Dean rolls his eyes at Sam's petulance. "Fine Ms. Priss." He picks up one half sandwich and raises it to his mouth.

Sam watches him. "What are you doing?"

"Can't let a _Dean_ good sandwich go to waste." Dean's cheeks are puffed out as he chews with a big smile pulling at his face.

Sam stares at Dean for the longest time. All of last night's memories, of Lucifer ripping out his intestines and hanging him up from it, of fire eating at his flesh, of that sinister laugh that he hears all the time now-

It suddenly dims out as the chord of another memory pulls at his mind.

He remembers, a small hotel in Scatawa, Michigan. A pack of funky smelling Oscar Meyer bologna. Remembers the way Deans shirt smelled like hotel soap and Cheetos. How his jeans felt rough under his cheek from being line dried, but it still felt comforting, felt like home.

Sam takes the other half of the sandwich, and bites the smallest part of the bread.

Dean gives him another smile. "That's my boy." He roughs up Sam's shoulder. "It's good huh?" Dean is practically patting himself on the back, like he had just cooked Sam a gourmet three course meal.

Sam rolls his eyes. But, a smile tugs at his lips just the same, because he remembered something besides agony.

He remembered who he was _before._

"Yeah," Sam pretends the clearing of his throat is because of the Wonder Bread stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Best _Dean_ good sandwich ever, man."

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**End.**

Just something I had to write after reading a lot of Weechester stuff lately.

R/R plese.

Mystic


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